April 25th: The Holding of Hands
by Kikyz
Summary: After the birth of their new born, Gar is force to think back to a time when everything was a blur.


What is it with girls and the remembering of dates? She could forget her keys on the counter. She could forget that her cell phone was in her sports bag (not a purse) instead of her pocket. She could even forget that she wears a size 12 and not the 9 she wore five years ago. So then how, just tell me how, does she remembers all these times we've shared down to a _T_. It's not like I don't remember any of them, especially since our time together started a month or so after the first day of high school. That was about nine years ago, which isn't as long as it may sound. But it was definitely long enough for some of the details to become a bit foggy. That is, for me at least. Raven on the other hand, seem to be able to quote any given moment we'd shared during those days. And I was always secretly grateful that she wasn't one of those girls who were hung up anniversaries (what in the world is a three week anniversary anyway). I've always been somewhat of a scatterbrain, but back then I usually forget something only moments after being told. Which is why, after that first semester of high school, people talked to me kind of slow and tried to be as specific as possible when it came to something important. If I was smart, I would have taken notes instead of just relying on the kid next to me to have studied last night. But I've never claimed to be brilliant, especially not back then. And maybe I couldn't remember much was because everything seem to mush together. A routine smashed together so perfectly that you couldn't tell a Tuesday from a Thursday.

Wake up. Get dress. Go to school. Be bored. Eat lunch. Be bored. Go home. Go to sleep.And do it again.

But as the days slowly became one big endless one for me, Raven somehow managed high school days with simplicity. And I wonder at times if I would be just a bit different if I had said a simple _hello _to her on the first day when I saw her during lunch, sitting to the wall, listening to music. I just have to wonder if that first semester would have been better if I had sat next to her instead of a guy I'd talk to my first period. And after pondering this, as I had so many times my junior year, how the image of her leaning on the wall, slightly bobbing her head to the music as she wrote in her notebook, had stayed so clear in my mind.

And now, as she lazily holds my hand, tired from labor, with the softest smile on her lips asks, "Gar, do you remember when you first held my hand?"  
I wasn't sure what brought on this question on, but all through her pregnancy she'd look at something or hear something or smell or even taste somethingthat would make her slow to a pause and ask me _Do you remember when. . . _which would lead to a small fuss about how I could forget about something so significant to our relationship, like us sharing an icy at the mall when we didn't have enough for two. At the time it didn't seem that important, just something that stood out a bit from the everyday smash. But now it had meaning, meaning beyond that of two flat-broke friends going dutch for a drink on a hot summer day.  
I thought back, despite the fact I knew I wouldn't remember the exact moment. But she was so up on morphine and so tired from giving birth that I was sure by the time I vaguely remember a time of me wanting to hold her hand, she'll be in a coma. However, this didn't happen. She was still up and waiting when I finally replied, "We were walking home from the movies. . . That's all I got."

"April 25th," she began as if she was so wise, "we went to see that Johnny Depp film with the guys."  
I nod to this, only slightly annoyed that she actually knew the exact date of when it happened. But then it clicks into my head, that day. It played so perfectly in my head, like I was watching it on a TV. Dick, Victor, and me wanted to go out. Cause "there's nothing worse than a smash on a Saturday" as Victor once said, us all believing in the 'smash philosophy.' Raven, the honorary member and only girl of our group since mid-sophomore year, was asks to join in our outing and (for once) she accepted it.

"Yeah, I remember now. You were the only girl there that wasn't gushing over Johnny Depp when we left."  
She nods slightly, her head resting on her pillow and eyes slowly closing. "And what else?" she adds, in a tone that said 'I'm not going to sleep until you _really _remember'. So I press the play button in my mind and tried to make out what was going on. I gave the sleeping babe next to Raven a glance, as if she could give me a hint of what exactly happened when we left the theater. Then the screen became clear and I said somewhat smugly, "_You_ wanted _me_ to walk you home."

It wasn't that late when the movie ended and then Dick had gotten a call from his crush about a party. Raven, not known for being social or a partygoer, decided to call it a night the moment he mentions it. She nudges me and started walking through the parking lot. It was a silent code for me to follow, which I did without question. During those days, when denial was my middle name when it came to Raven, I often got in fights with Victor about this. To myself, I was just walking around with a friend. To him and everyone else, I was following her like a lovesick puppy. We had a million silent codes, Raven and me. It got on the guys nerves when we had a conversation using them with little words in-between. No one understood this silent language, but us. Which it was how it was suppose to be.

I slowly pick up my baby daughter, careful as to not wake her, and held her securely in my arms. Somewhat hard to believe she was born no more than an hour or so ago.  
"Yes, but then what happens?" she says with a smile. I realize that she wasn't going to fall asleep until I retell the story as if she wasn't there.  
"It was cold," I began in a playfully angry voice. "It was _too_ cold. _Way_ too cold to be April."  
So cold in fact that the moment we walked outside the theater that I zipped up my jacket all the way up to the collar, not caring how it annoyed my neck. As we walk out of the parking lot, we pause at a crossway and waited for traffic to slow down. Raven wore a light, cotton jacket that had those cool yet crappy drawings all over it. It was one of those accessory jackets, the kind most girls wear to set off their outfit. It wasn't meant to be worn seriously as a jacket. She didn't seem cold, but I remember being able to see her nipples poke out a bit. I remember my face growing hot and pretending not to notice. And when it didn't go away, I finally just gave her my jacket. She was reluctant in taking it, insisting she wasn't cold. And I can't really remember how I got her to put it on without revealing that she was poking out. But I remember the relief I felt when she finally did put it on.  
On our usual route to her house from the movies, we'd cut through the park to get there faster. Her mom was always worrying about her and setting strict curfews whenever Raven hung out with us, a group of teenage boys. So if a movie ran longer than we estimated, we'd run through the park at God speed and prayed we weren't late enough for her mom to start freaking out. Back then, I really couldn't stand her mom. She seem to rush us at any little thing we did. It was pretty much impossible to relax and enjoy our hanging out time when your forever glancing at the clock.

Now, however, we had plenty of time. We walked slowly on the path we ran on so many times the past year. The lights of the street lamps weren't on, they never were during the school year. It seemed so dark and I remember myself wondering if the park had always looked this dark and scary when we ran to Raven's door. I thought I heard Raven say something, but when I asked her if she did, she said didn't. Though I'm sure she did mutter _something_ to herself. As the street lights from behind us began to fade, I think I started to panic. I turn to Raven, only to barely make out her silhouette beside me. I can't remember as of why I was alarmed by being in the park at night. Maybe it was because that morning I think my dad was reading an article about a crazy maniac going around killing people and eating their livers with lima beans. Or was that a movie? Whatever the case, I didn't feel safe. As we continued in silence, our hands brushed and I think we both burnt red. Strange how easily a blush came to our faces. Thinking about it makes me want to burst out laughing at how immature we were to blush at something like this. It forces me to remember when we first made out for real, after a few awkward kisses. Our faces were so red and hot that I think I almost died from over heat.  
"Sorry," she said softly as we kept our way down the path. At the time, I'm pretty sure I wanted to tell her that she didn't have to say sorry. That I actually didn't mind her hand on mine. And that's all that consumed my thoughts for the rest of the walk. I wanted to hold her hand. I had to! And about a billion times that night I'd reach for her hand, just to lose my nerve and drop my hand to my side.  
"Gar," she had said as if she was going to ask me something, but must have lost her nerve as well because she fell silent. Then, ever so slowly, she lifted her hand. I took it gingerly and we walked the rest of the way with red faces and goofy grins. Though we quickly unlatched them when her mother open the door and we came inside to watch infomercials with her.

* * *

"You forgot some stuff, but I'll let you pass," Raven smirks when I tell her the bits and pieces I remember, readjusting herself on the hospital bed. I rolled my eyes at her and then looked down at my beautiful baby girl.  
"What made you think of that anyway," I asks. Her response so completely obvious that I really could just kick myself: "Today's the 25th."

As I believe I said before, she wasn't one to hang needless anniversaries in the air. Yet this one would always be in the back of my head whenever my little girl birthday came around. I sighed, gently caressing the baby's cheek with my thumb. Females remember too much. They keep talking about had happen, even when we males have forgotten all about it. I can remember to pick up the keys off the counter. I can remember to search her sports bag (which totally looks like a purse, even if she say it isn't) while she pat on her pockets for it. I can even remember to switch those size 9 outfits with size 12 ones, making sure she doesn't notice. So why, just tell me why, can't I remember all those little moments that didn't mean much back then, but so much now?

I leaned down and softly kiss the babe on her forehead, knowing that someday she'll know more than I'd ever will. And in the stupidest sounding voice that ever came out of my mouth, I said, "Happy Birthday!"

"Who are you suppose to be, Frosty the Snowman?"

* * *

_**This is a slightly late birthday present to bunnychic4. I hoped you liked it and sorry it was a bit late. My mom threw me off my schedule by dragging me with her to the nail salon. . . **_


End file.
